


No Sweeter Innocence

by Pelydryn



Series: Explicit and DARK [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Cliche, Dark Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Dom/sub, Kink Meme, M/M, Mind Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tropes, Vampires, ok just a little plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelydryn/pseuds/Pelydryn
Summary: Mum had always said to be out of the forest by nightfall. Merlin is about to learn why. It will end badly, of course, but what a way to go.A fill for the kink meme prompt,“Vampire!Arthur compels a mesmerized Merlin to have sex with him while he drains him dry (in more than one sense). Despite knowing how this will end, Merlin can’t bring himself to resist, and he’s really, really into having his neck bitten and sucked while Arthur fucks him (bonus points if vampire saliva works like an aphrodisiac).”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This is an ongoing fill at the new kink meme, [Kinks of Camelot](https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com). Everyone is welcome to contribute prompts or stories. 
> 
> For M, who is amazing in all the ways.

Mum had always said he needed to be out of the forest before the sun went down. Evil roamed in the darkness, looking for sweet things to feed upon. 

Merlin had always thought that a bunch of hogwash, just a way to make sure he was home for dinner and not out getting into trouble. 

But now he wasn't so sure. 

He had been out with Freya at a pond the two of them had found while exploring the forest several years back. It had been a glorious late afternoon spent frolicking with his childhood friend. The heat of summer and the filth of the day's work were washed away in the cool water. After thoroughly drenching themselves, they splashed around naked in the shallows. Neither of them had wanted to leave. 

They had emerged from the pool reluctantly as the sun went down, hesitant to warm themselves by donning their clothing but needing it in order to safely traverse the prickly undergrowth that lined the way home. The two of them stood side by side, watching the evening shadows slowly obscure the reflections in the water. The sky deepened from bright blue to turquoise to violet. The tops of the trees on the hill above the pond glowed with the rosy light of sunset. It was a breathtaking scene. 

Somewhere in the distance, a creature squeaked. A strange noise, almost like a scream, followed immediately after. Merlin supposed some hapless creature had just been eaten for dinner. 

The noise reminded Merlin of the passing time, and he turned away from the pond to go for his messy pile of clothes. But as soon as he took a step, Freya said, “Oh fuck it,” grabbed him by the shoulders, and kissed him. 

He'd never been kissed before, nor had he really ever thought about it much. The kiss was… nice, maybe. At least, it felt heartwarming to know that someone might like him, because wasn't that generally a prerequisite for kissing? And then Freya pulled him close, and Merlin had always been fond of hugs… though on an evening as hot as this one, the added body heat wasn't the most comfortable. Besides, it was getting rather hard to breathe, and he really wanted to wipe that bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. He pulled away from the kiss to wipe the perspiration and fill his lungs.

 

A sudden draft of cool air, sweetly scented with night blooms, drifted in from the depths of the forest. From somewhere in that direction, the sound of squeaking returned, but this time in a great chorus. Bats. Shit. It was getting late. Mum would be furious with him. 

“We have to go,” he told Freya, pretending he didn't see the hurt expression in her eyes. “It's almost dark.”

“Don't tell me you believe any of those fairy tales?” Freya’s tone was bitter, nothing at all like her normal sweet demeanor. Huh. Maybe he had upset her. 

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

 

Then she was kissing him again, and this time he noticed the way she rubbed the swell of her breasts against his naked chest and pressed her hips against his bare thighs. He wrapped his arms around her because it seemed rude not to. 

She groaned into his mouth, which made him wonder if he were doing the kissing thing all wrong. He'd heard the other lads talking, back in the village, about how fucking great it was to be with a wench. They made it sound natural, like they had all known what to do since the day they were born. Merlin had assumed that he would know, too.

Apparently not. 

Freya was doing something with her tongue, so he tried to mirror her movements. But then she huffed in exasperation, grabbed his hand, and placed it palm down on her breast. 

Merlin wasn't a complete dunce. He'd known that the other lads tried to feel up the village lasses at every opportunity, and that most of them would giggle and make it easier for the boy the next time. But… what was he supposed to do in this situation?

 

He squeezed experimentally, since it seemed like he ought to be doing _something_. Her breast was soft and warm and… that was the extent of it. His stomach grumbled, and he wondered how hurt Freya would be if he suggested they went home for supper. 

He was considering different ways to ask this tactfully and not paying much attention to what Freya was doing. So it took him by complete surprise when a hand grabbed at his limp cock and started stroking it. 

It felt weird… nothing at all like when Merlin touched himself in the stillness of the night. He jerked away instinctively. Her fingernails accidentally scratched the tender skin on his cock as he moved away. 

“Fuck!” he said, trying to keep calm so that he wouldn't scare Freya but struggling to do so when it stung so much. 

Freya babbled frantically about being sorry and how she didn't mean to and—

“Let's just go home, yeah?” Merlin said, not quite sure how things had gone downhill so quickly. He threw on his clothing, wincing as his sore cock rubbed against the rough fabric of his small clothes. Freya dressed at his side. She looked over at him fairly often, but Merlin didn't dare guess what she was thinking.

 

It was full dark by the time they started for home. A few stars were visible in the cracks between the leaf-laden branches overhead. Mum was NOT going to be happy about how late it was. 

An owl hooted from somewhere nearby; a mosquito buzzed in his ear. Wings flapped, and then more, and a swarm of pitch dark shapes obscured the stars for a moment. 

The path home led through a thick grove of trees, and the hot, heavy darkness wrapped around them so tightly it was hard to breathe. Merlin debated conjuring a light. He didn't want to call attention to their whereabouts if anything truly dangerous was lurking about in the woods. But as they stumbled forwards, blind, he wondered if it might not be worth the risk so they didn't get horribly lost. 

Freya clung to him, trembling. Despite her earlier bravado, she was scared. Merlin moved forwards with his arm outstretched, feeling his way along the path. A cool, sweetly scented breeze blew, and it energised him, spurred him into walking faster. 

At last the forest thinned, and in the distance lights were visible. Thank the gods, there was the village. Now that he could see his destination, he realised just how tense he had been. His heart was beating fast, and his left arm was clinging to Freya so tightly it was a wonder she didn't smack him.

With the trees cleared, Merlin noticed that the stars were disappearing one by one, devoured by towering clouds. There was a flash in the distance; a low roll of thunder followed a long moment later. Night creatures stirred and squawked; a swarm of bats swooped past them, fleeing from the oncoming storm. 

They were halfway to their destination when Merlin realised something wasn't right. The lights ahead were too numerous, and some were more elevated than any would be in their village. This was not the way home at all. 

A gust of wind brought a smattering of raindrops. Lightning flashed, again and again, and the thunder grew louder. The storm would be upon them soon. 

“That's not Ealdor,” Freya said, voice quiet yet still loud enough for him to hear how it shook. 

“We need shelter,” he replied. “There will be people there.”

Their irregular path evened out into a rock-lined road. Frequent flashes of electric blue lit their way and revealed their destination: an imposing castle built into the side of a steep hill. It had multiple turrets and towers, each topped with bright torches. They acted like a welcoming beacon, and Merlin found his steps quickening in order to reach the promised haven. 

Rain spit down on them now, whipped nearly sideways by gusts strong enough to rip leaves off nearby trees. By the time they reached the castle gate, they were running, trying to escape being pelted by flying objects. 

The gate was open, and they rushed through it into a large stone courtyard lit with an abundance of torches sputtering in the storm. It was almost as if the people in the castle were expecting visitors. 

On the far side of the courtyard were steps leading up to an entryway. As they climbed up, a large wooden door swung open at the top, letting light spill down the stairs towards them. 

“Come in! Hurry!” a voice cried. 

They rushed through the door, eager to escape the weather. 

Merlin was only a little startled when the door slammed closed behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

They found themselves in a large entry way, the ceiling so far above their heads that it was lost in the darkness. A grand staircase carpeted in deep red led up to a balcony where lightless passages branched off, leading farther into the depths of the castle. The walls were crowded with gold-framed portraits, but most were were bathed in shadows. One stood out, though, the largest of them all. It was of a man with greying hair and a metal crown, sitting in a throne, while a young man stood to the side and just behind him. The youth’s only crown was his golden hair, but that was more than enough to capture Merlin's attention. Blue eyes peered out, almost as if looking at him. Merlin wasn't sure if he'd ever seen such a brilliant colour. Probably just a fancy of an artist who had been paid to make his subjects as handsome as possible. 

“Welcome to Camelot Castle,” a thin voice said, and Merlin spun around looking for the person who had let them in. He had been so overwhelmed by the grandeur of the entrance hall that he had let his guard down. Stupid. Mum had always taught him to be alert, and look what he had done… gotten distracted by a pretty face, and not even a real one at that. 

There was an old man there, dressed impeccably in dark clothing. He appeared fragile, hunched over as he was, and Merlin could probably take him even without using magic. He sighed and let some of the tension flow from his muscles. 

“I am Geoffrey, and I act as steward and librarian for the castle. I assume you seek shelter from the storm?”

Freya was shy, and hovered behind Merlin, happy to let him do the talking. “Yes, sir. I'm Merlin, and this is Freya. We got lost in the forest. Would it be possible for us to stay here until the morn?” Merlin was suddenly aware that he was dripping water all over the floor. The damp spots on the red carpet looked uncomfortably like blood stains. 

“Yes, of course. The Master always welcomes guests. Here, I'll take you to get some dry clothes and let Audrey know we have visitors for supper. If you would come with me, please.”

They climbed the stairs and followed Geoffrey down dimly lit corridors filled with dusty statues and faded portraits. They arrived in front of two doors, side by side. 

“The Master would be pleased if you accepted his gift of clothing. You will find it laid out on the bed.” He opened the door on the left for Merlin to enter. Merlin stepped forward, Freya on his heels. 

Geoffrey blocked the way. “I'm sorry, Miss, but your room is this one.”

Freya stopped abruptly, anxiety clear in the tension of her face. “I want to stay with Merlin.” Her voice was shaky but strong. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were mated.”

“Mated?” Merlin said. “No, we're not, er… mated. Freya is my—”

Geoffrey shook his head slightly and frowned. “Well, in that case, I must insist on separate rooms. But there is nothing to fear, my dear,” he said, addressing Freya with a smile. “You are both welcome and honoured guests. Please, accept the Master's hospitality. 

The last thing Merlin wanted to do was offend his host. “It's okay, Frey,” he murmured. “I'm in the room right next to you. If anything happens, just call for me and I'll be there. I'll keep you safe, don't worry.”

She nodded hesitantly, and when Geoffrey opened her door, she slowly walked in. Merlin entered his room, happy to know he would have a place to stay. The room had a polished wooden floor which reflected the bright orange glow of the fire in the grate. The flames made the room warm and cheery, a stark contrast to the rest of the dark, cold castle. 

The room contained a bed with a crimson counterpane, a wooden wardrobe engraved with ornate designs featuring a large dragon, and a table with chairs. On the bed there lay a pile of clothes. 

Merlin was happy to strip off his sodden outfit and lay it by the fire to dry. Then he lifted the garments from the bed. They were made from what appeared to be genuine silk, although Merlin had never had a chance to touch anything nearly so fine before. 

 

He put the trousers on first. They were loose and comfortable, soft and warm. Delightful. The shirt quickly followed. It was cream-coloured and had various ornamental ruffles on it. The most noticeable feature was the open neckline that plunged into a sharp vee cut that went halfway to his navel. It left his collarbones and chest exposed, and he felt a little self-conscious about it. Normally he wrapped his neckerchief fairly tightly over the top of his shirts, and this sudden freedom was unnerving. He looked longingly back at his rough work shirt, but it was wet and muddy. And this one was so delightfully soft, almost like wearing air. 

Nor did he want to be ungrateful to the hospitality he had been shown. It was just for an evening. He could do it. 

Once his stockings and shoes were on, he went straight back to the hallway to meet Freya. She soon emerged from her room in a lacy white dress that displayed her shoulders and cleavage to great effect. It was almost enough to make Merlin wish they were back at the pond again. Almost. 

“You look lovely,” he told her, and she smiled shyly at him. When she looked at Merlin’s outfit, though, she said nothing, but seemed to turn a bit flushed in the cheeks. Was it really that bad?

“If you would follow me…” 

Freya clutched at Merlin's hand, drawing a slight frown from Geoffrey, and then they followed the old man through the musty corridors to a formal dining room. There was an extremely long polished wooden table laden with multiple candelabra. The flames illuminated the table but cast deep shadows on the rest of the room. High above their heads there was a line of windows through which lightning lit the room dramatically at frequent intervals. Two place settings were laid side by side in the centre of the table closest to the door. The plates were of fine china, etched with patterns of golden dragons soaring. Crystal goblets filled with a brilliant red liquid sparkled in the candlelight. Several large trays overflowed with fruit and pastries. Merlin's mouth watered at the sight. 

“Please, help yourself to all you wish,” Geoffrey said, gesturing for them to be seated, though he remained standing. It felt awkward, but they did as requested. Since he was ravenous, Merlin wasted no time in filling his plate. He had rather hoped for meat, but he certainly wouldn't scoff at the sugared cakes and chocolate-dipped strawberries. There were raspberries drizzled with sweet cream and peach tarts layered with honey and many other delights that Merlin had no name for. 

He had expected the goblet to contain bitter wine, but it was some sort of sweet berry cordial, though from the burn in his throat as it went down, he knew it would be potent. 

“I do apologise for the lack of meat. The Master abstains from animal flesh. But as you can see, he has quite a sweet tooth.” 

That was an understatement. Merlin had never had so much sugar in one sitting in his life. In Ealdor, honey was a special treat used only on rare occasions; normally it was stored for medicinal purposes. Cane sugar was a new import and only available to the powerful and rich. Though judging by the castle, wealth wasn't an issue. 

“Tell me of this place,” Merlin said after awhile when his stomach felt queasy from all the sweets. He wished to wash the syrupy feel out of his mouth, but the cordial was useless in that regard. Maybe he could ask for some water later. 

“There's not much to tell,” Geoffrey said. “Camelot Castle has been the seat of power for the Pendragon family for centuries now.”

Merlin turned in his seat so that be could look the steward in the eye. “How come we've never heard of this place then? How can a castle such as this, one that is within walking distance of my village, go unnoticed all these years?”

Geoffrey sniffed disdainfully. “It's not my concern if the local villagers are too small-minded to see what is in front of their noses.” After that, he abruptly changed the subject. “If you're quite finished, I will take you to your rooms. It is rather late.”

Merlin was unsatisfied, but nodded. All that mattered was that he and Freya find their way home again in the morning. 

The trip back was uneventful. Geoffrey insisted upon seeing them each into their own room. Freya gave Merlin a firm hug before she left, and he could feel her fear in the way she trembled in his arms. “Don't worry,” he whispered. “I'll be right next door.” She nodded and entered her chamber. Geoffrey took a large metal key and locked the door behind her. When Merlin raised an eyebrow, he said, “It's for your protection. There shouldn't be any problems, but very rarely the Master's father gets loose and wanders the halls at night. Better safe than sorry, you see.” Then before Merlin could ask any more questions, Geoffrey gave him a gentle push into the room, shut the door, and locked it. 

Well. 

He went to turn the doorknob, and yes, it was locked from the inside, too. But if needed he would magic the door open, and it didn't seem necessary at the moment. Sure, Freya had seemed frightened, but she would be safe enough in her room. As for Merlin, he was exhausted and didn't fancy sharing a bed with a girl that would cling to him and get all the wrong ideas. It was better this way. 

He left the fire burning merrily in the grate, but blew out all the candles. His outfit was so comfortable he didn't bother to change it, just climbed straight into bed. The sheets were as luxurious as his clothing had been, and both the mattress and the pillows were stuffed chock full of down. It was like lying on a cloud, and he drifted off into peaceful slumber. 

He woke with a start in a pitch black room, heart pounding.

Bang, bang, bang, bang. 

Someone was at the door. And they didn't seem happy.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin sat up in bed, heart pounding. The only light came from flashes of lightning brilliant enough to illuminate the room even through the red curtains. The storm still raged, as fierce a tempest as Merlin had ever witnessed. He couldn't have been asleep for that long. 

There was more banging on the door, and the hinges creaked, threatening to break at any moment. Merlin jumped from the bed, ready to defend himself from whatever was out there, should it be necessary. 

There were shouts from the hallway, and loud thumps and crashes. Multiple people were yelling, and the urge to know what was going on was overwhelming. But the only way to get out would be to use magic, and he didn't need to reveal that particular talent just yet. It might be a useful surprise to pull out in a pinch. Always better to be underestimated. 

There was a long howling wail followed by an angry female voice. (Not Freya’s, thankfully.) More yelling… and then the noise moved away, lessening in intensity until it was quiet. 

What the blazes had that been about? 

Merlin paced in the darkness, too tense to settle back into bed. Did Freya hear all that? Was she frightened? Should Merlin go to her? 

There was another knock upon his door, but this one was calm and controlled. The knock repeated, and then a key jangled in the lock and the door swung open, revealing torchlight spilling in from the hall around a dark silhouette. 

“Hello?” Merlin called hesitantly, suddenly ashamed of how his voice wavered. 

“Good evening,” answered a smooth, rich voice. It reminded Merlin of the echo of the bard’s viol, music that lingered long after the last string had been plucked. Musical, gorgeous, compelling. 

“Welcome to my home,” the voice said. Then the figure entered the room and lit the candle on the table. In the flare of light, the man's face was easily seen: golden hair, a strong jaw… and the bluest eyes Merlin had ever seen. 

“It's you!” he exclaimed, then blushed with embarrassment. “I'm sorry, I just—you're the boy in the portrait in the entryway.”

The man smiled, and suddenly the room seemed lit by sunshine instead of a single candle. “Oh yes.” The man laughed, a rich, resonant peal that warmed the heart. “That was painted a long time ago.” 

“It can't have been that long ago,” Merlin said, without thinking. Something about this man encouraged him to talk. “You can't be more than a year or two older than you were then.”

“Looks can be deceiving, my dear…?”

“Merlin. I'm Merlin.” He was eager to supply the information; anything to please the man. 

“Looks can be deceiving, my dear Merlin. Yourself, for instance. You look so thin a rabbit would best you in a fight. But of course that's not the case. You're very powerful, aren't you?”

Merlin's heart bubbled over with pride, so happy that this man recognised his true worth. He had just met him, but how he wished to impress… errrr, what was his name? 

“Yes, very powerful,” Merlin found himself saying, mind still thinking about names and how beautiful the man was. “The druids say I could be the most powerful sorcerer in the world, once I grow into my power and study a bunch. Though I'm not sure all that studying sounds like any fun…”

What the hell? Had Merlin really just said all that to a complete stranger? That was the kind of secret he was supposed to keep from everyone but those closest to him. Even Freya didn't know that part about the druids’ claims. What had gotten into him?

“Wonderful,” the man said. “I so look forward to getting to know you.”

“Likewise,” Merlin said, feeling like he had lost control of his tongue somewhere along the way. “Mr….?”

“Arthur,” the man said, smiling so brightly that Merlin wanted to taste it. “You may call me Arthur.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed reverently, exploring how the name felt on his tongue. And that's not the only thing he wondered about. How would those pink lips taste if he sucked on them? What if he licked down that smooth shaven cheek? Gods damn it, he was suddenly feeling ravenous. 

“Oh, aren't you a sweet thing?” Arthur said stepping close, so close Merlin could smell him. He inhaled, filling his lungs with the smell of… What, exactly? Exotic spices mixed with fruit, perhaps? Or was it more the smell of sun-dried herbs hanging near a fire? Smoky and sharp and… And whatever it was, it seemed to shift. But it was so intoxicating. Merlin had to fight off the urge to press his face into the other man's shoulder to breathe him in more clearly. 

There was a prickling of his magic, a sudden fizz that made Merlin shake his head, trying to clear away the heavy cloudiness that was settling over his thoughts. He really ought to be asking questions, not plotting ways to inhale a stranger. 

“What—” It was hard to remember what he had wanted to ask. “What… was that noise in the hall?”

Arthur stepped even closer and gently laid a hand upon each of Merlin's shoulders. “Oh, you needn't worry about that. That was just my father, trying to take things that aren't his. But you, my sweet, belong to me.”

And then Arthur was kissing him, fiercely, ravenously, pressing his tongue in to taste every part of Merlin's mouth, sucking and nipping and licking. 

It was the best damn thing to ever happen to Merlin. 

All through the kiss, a delirious joy built up inside his body, bubbling and frothing, whipping up burning heat that lingered right at the junction between pain and pleasure. It eventually centered on his cock, and Merlin knew that would be where it all boiled over. 

He kissed back as best he could, and Arthur seemed pleased with his attempts. There was nothing awkward like it had been with Freya. Merlin was consumed by desire and his body took over, reacting spontaneously, almost as if he weren't in control. 

Arthur groaned and pulled him closer, pressing their hips together. From the feel of things, Arthur was just as excited as he was, and Merlin felt a deep satisfaction at having that effect on someone so brilliant and handsome. 

They kissed for quite a lengthy time. Merlin felt more and more lost in the sensations of it all. It was as if all his senses had been dampened his entire life, but now…! Now he could see colours a way he never had before, blue brighter than the sky, gold more brilliant than the sun… And sounds… everything had become like a melody played by the finest musicians, faerie songs, since no mortal could possibly produce such glorious resonance… 

His sense of smell was a revelation. The sweetest of flower fragrances seemed rotten in comparison. And the taste… Merlin had never experienced such an intoxicating flavour before. How it was possible that a man should be more delectable than the most succulent dishes was a mystery, but so it was. 

Then there was the way he felt… Each touch burned like fire but energized like lightning. He _needed_ it so badly. How had he survived this long in the world while being deprived of such a thing? It was as if he were dead except for the places he had been touched… and those places burst with life and joy. 

He _needed_ it. 

He needed _more_. 

If he didn't get more, he might _die_. 

And then—

And then Arthur pulled away. 

The loss was immediate and severe. There was no physical pain, and yet it felt like he'd had a limb torn off. 

This wasn't right. Something was… off. And yet he couldn't stop himself from stepping towards Arthur, trying to regain the enlightenment that could only be found in his arms. 

Arthur held out the palm of his hand forbiddingly, and Merlin tried to pull himself together. _Control yourself. Pay attention. Something is wrong. Ask questions…_

But all Merlin managed was to groan with the intensity of need that coursed through him. It was a pitiful sound; under normal circumstances he would have been embarrassed by his weakness. Now, though, it took all his concentration just to keep from throwing himself at Arthur. 

“Ah, so eager, my sweet,” Arthur said, voice smoother than the silk clothing Merlin was wearing. “If you can't control yourself, I'll have to restrain you. Would you like that?”

No, no, he could behave, he could do as asked. Anything to make Arthur kiss him again. 

But damn, it was hard. 

Arthur’s eyes flashed crimson, and the fire in the grate flared up, flooding the room with light. _Magic_. Merlin should maybe pay attention to that, but all he could do was stare at those eyes, the bluest of blue. Mesmerising. 

Arthur looked Merlin over appraisingly. “Lovely. When I saw you at the pond, I knew I had to have you. So powerful, so exquisite. Everyone will want you, but you're mine, understand? I found you, and you're mine.”

“Yours,” Merlin whispered. “Yes, always—”

“Shhhh, little one. Hold still and let me look at you.”

It felt impossible to hold still, especially when Arthur moved away to circle around him. Merlin needed to see those eyes, now, now, now! He was suffocating and those blue eyes were his only source of air…

He spun around, desperately searching for Arthur's face.

“You're a naughty thing, aren't you? I'll have to help you behave.”

Blue eyes flashed crimson, and then Merlin found himself frozen in place, completely paralysed, unable to even to blink an eye. 

“There, that's better.” 

Arthur stepped so close that the smell of him overwhelmed Merlin's senses. If he hadn't been held in place, his knees might have given out. Arthur reached his hand out and traced along the line of Merlin's collarbones, touching as lightly as if he were nothing more substantial than a butterfly. Goose flesh erupted on Merlin's arms and legs. Where Arthur's fingers touched, heat seared into the skin, pain and pleasure both intertwined irrevocably together. 

“Such power you will bring me… I have been looking for one such as you for so very long… my little Merlin bird, the jewel of my collection.”

A distant part of Merlin's mind was clamoring at him: this was bad, he needed to do something, use magic now before it was too late! Think of Freya, frightened next door. Think of Mum, who would be worried sick. Think of—

But all he could focus on was Arthur. He might die if he didn't get to Arthur. He needed to be with him now. 

Merlin summoned up all the magical strength within him, and _pushed_. The paralysis holding him in place broke, and he threw himself at Arthur, desperate to find relief from the torturous longing inside. 

And then Arthur was kissing him again, roughly, but what did that matter? Merlin was right where he belonged. 

Ages passed, and finally Arthur broke the kiss. Merlin buried his face in Arthur's shirt, trying to wrap himself up in the glory of his scent. 

“So powerful, my sweet. I've never seen anyone react so strongly to the compulsion. But your magic knows me, it calls to me, it belongs to me…”

Yes, yes, everything he said was true. Merlin's magic was Arthur’s. Of course. 

“And then to throw the compulsion off… unheard of. I can't wait to sate myself. Though… not too fast. Need to make it last. Enjoy the delicacy to the fullest extent.”

Merlin nodded in agreement, too qoverwhelmed by sheer _want_ to speak. Anything was fine, if only he could be with Arthur. 

“And such an elegant neck you have… how gorgeous it will be once I've marked you.”

Marked. Yes. Yes, please…

Merlin tried to kiss Arthur again, needing to taste him or die from the need of it. Arthur’s eyes flashed, and Merlin felt the compulsion to stop. He let his own magic bubble up inside and then pushed past the resistance. He wouldn't accept no as an answer. 

“Fuck, you're strong. I’ll have to take the top off now, before we have our fun.”

Arthur pulled Merlin close and kissed him deeply. Then he laid a line of kisses from Merlin's mouth down his jaw and down the side of his neck. He licked and nibbled and tasted. Then he latched on to Merlin's pulse point and sucked. Hard. Merlin's cock, which had been rock hard since the moment he first looked at Arthur, was on the verge of exploding. So close, so close, gods, he needed it so so badly. If he didn't come he would die… 

He moved a hand down to touch himself, but it didn't make any difference. His cock was on the precipice, stuck in a maelstrom of pain and pleasure. Sweat poured from Merlin’s face; tears also dripped down his cheeks and onto the floor. 

“Please… please…” he begged, not knowing quite what he was begging for. “Please… I need…”

“Just say the word, my sweet, and I will make you mine.”

“Make me yours!” Merlin yelled. Anything to stop this feeling, anything to bring relief. 

“As you wish.” Arthur returned to sucking on his neck, but this time… he opened his mouth and bit through the tender flesh. 

Merlin’s cock exploded, pulsing violently and sending out wave after wave of spend. He screamed from the pain and shock and exhilaration of it all. There was one moment of complete and utter joy—and then his world collapsed into nothingness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, this delved off into a hint of h/c. Fear not. More pwp soon

Merlin woke in the morning with a massive headache from his temple down the left side of his neck. Sunshine filtered through crimson curtains, staining the room with blood-red highlights. It took a moment to remember where he was. There had been a storm, and a castle… He and Freya had taken shelter here… Freya! He ought to go check on Freya. 

He tried to sit up, but when he did the room spun around him. What the hell had he been drinking last night? There was that cordial, but hadn't he just had one goblet? It was unheard of for him to get so ill, no matter how much he drank. 

But he really needed to check on Freya. He forced himself up again, not willing to be defeated by a simple hangover (if that is what it was). The wave of dizziness and nausea that hit was overwhelming. He toppled out of the bed and was sick on the floor. It took a moment to catch his breath, but after that he felt better. 

Standing was an unsteady process, but he managed. There was water and fruit on the table. He drank a little, but couldn't stomach the idea of food. The room was cold, and he shivered. The fire was out, and his old clothes were nowhere to be seen. Hadn't he left them in front of the grate to dry? 

There was no clothing anywhere. He was cold, so he took one of the many layers of blankets from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders; hopefully that would help. Both his shoes and the ones he had worn the night before had disappeared. No matter. It's not like he was going outside. 

He turned the door knob, but it was locked. That's right. Locked for his protection, hadn't Geoffrey said? It was morning now, and he was going to check on Freya whether his host thought it safe or not. 

“ _Tospringe_ ,” he muttered at the door. A wave of dizziness passed over him, and he stumbled. He really was quite ill, wasn't he? The bed looked very welcoming, but first to check on his friend. He tried to open the door—but it was still locked. 

That spell hadn't failed him since childhood. Strange. Sickness had never affected his magical ability before. And he wasn't going to let it now. 

“Tospringe!” he demanded, glaring at the knob. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he hunched over, arms hugging his torso, willing himself to not be sick again. This time there was an audible click, and he knew the spell had worked. 

Several moments passed before he was recovered enough to visit Freya. Eventually he felt moderately better and opened the door. He peeked out into the corridor, but no one was around. It was much as it had been the night before, drab red carpet, grim statues, dusty portraits of long-deceased subjects with forbidding faces. In the daylight, the rundown condition of the castle was even more apparent. 

He knocked on Freya’s door, not wanting to just waltz in if she were dressing or something. There was no answer. When a second knock resulted in the same foreboding silence, Merlin’s anxiety spiked, a literal sensation of pain stabbing his chest. 

He steeled himself for the nausea and inhaled deeply. “Tospringe!” The lock clicked, a sluggish sound that was still more energetic than Merlin felt. The nausea and dizziness hit hard, but receded again quickly. Despite shivering, he noticed beads of sweat clinging to his face. He wiped them with the blanket wrapped around him, and then opened the door to Freya’s room. 

Inside it was dark; the heavy drapes let almost no light through. When Merlin inhaled, a strange smell made him grimace. What was that? The scent reminded him of the village barn on a rainy day, when the animals were brought in early, dripping water and shedding muddy hair everywhere. 

“Leoht,” Merlin said instinctively, forgetting for a moment the trouble he was having with his magic. Sickness roiled through his gut, and no light appeared. Damn it.

It was easier to open the drapes than to battle his magic, and he hurried to do so. Sunlight—strangely cheerless despite its golden colour—poured in, revealing a room very similar to Merlin's own.

Except…

This room looked as if it had been torn apart by a wild beast. The bed covers were shredded into bits and scattered over the carpet. The wooden table was overturned, and the two chairs lay splintered underneath it. There were deep gouges in the open wardrobe doors, and ripped clothing spilled out. 

Of Freya, there was no sign. 

Merlin stared at the mess in shock. A sense of desperate horror trickled through him, slowly at first but accelerating as the implications of what must have happened hit him. For whatever dangers prowled the castle at night, the simple lock on the door had not been sufficient. Merlin had allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security, had agreed to leaving Freya on her own… and now look what had happened! Though… He wasn't sure what actually _had_ happened. Where the hell was his friend? Had she been _eaten_ by whatever creature had trashed the room? Oh gods, he would never be able to forgive himself. 

His headache chose that moment to return with a vengeance, centering especially on an area below his left ear. Tears sprung to his eyes, though whether it was from the sharp pain or his despair at having failed Freya, he wasn't sure. He sank to the floor, willing the pain and nausea away so that he could get help. Maybe someone knew what had happened; maybe she was still alive…

“You shouldn't be in here,” a stern voice admonished, rather too loudly. Though considering how horrid he felt, any volume would have been too strong. 

Merlin groaned in response, unable to force proper words from his mouth. The pain in his neck throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and between each pulse, all he could think of was Freya. 

Someone grabbed him on the arm and pulled him upright. He moaned, and a dry hand pressed against his forehead. “You're burning up,” the voice said, kinder this time. “Let's get you to bed, and I'll call for the physician.”

Whoever it was draped Merlin's arm around his shoulder, half-dragged him back to his own room, and deposited him on the bed. 

“Freya…” Merlin asked, afraid of the answer but needing to know. 

“Don't you worry about your friend. She's off visiting the Mistress, she is. She'll be back later. Now you rest here until Mr Gaius comes.”

Freya… would be back later? How…?

He clung to hope that she was all right… and that he would stop feeling like someone had scraped out the left side of his skull with a serving spoon. 

It seemed like ages before the door to his chamber reopened, but Merlin was drifting on the waves of pain, not at all anchored to a world where time passed in a logical and predictable manner. 

A new voice spoke from somewhere near Merlin's bed, and he moaned as the sound worsened his headache. 

“I told him the boy wouldn't survive the loss of his magic, but did he listen to me? Of course not. Too busy following his own appetites.”

“Is the boy going to die, then? The Master won't be pleased.” Merlin recognised that voice as Geoffrey's, though he vaguely wondered who this dying boy and the Master were. Hopefully the physician would go help that boy… right after he helped Merlin. Assuming he ever showed up…

“That would always have been his fate, whether I approved or not. Strength like this only appears when the fabric of one's existence is literally sewn together with magic. Such a person cannot endure its loss.” 

What were they talking about? Sewing? Maybe a tailor? Merlin should ask for some clothes… 

“Plea—” But he couldn't get the words out. His mouth was too dry; his neck hurt too much. 

“Shhh…” said the unfamiliar voice. “It's okay, my boy, don't speak. Here, drink this.” Someone helped sit him up enough to sip at the cup. He'd hoped for water, but it was something else. Something bitter, filled with herbs; nothing at all like the cordial from the previous night. 

He swallowed as fast as he was able, eager to wet his mouth and quench the fire that grew inside of him. The acerbic concoction settled into his blood, cooling and relaxing his body as it spread through his veins. His limbs grew heavy, and his eyes slid shut. Someone lay him back on the bed, and he fell gratefully into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Wake up, my sweet. Time for dinner."

It was that voice, that musical voice from his dream. The voice that had claimed him, body, soul, and magic. This should bother him, but instead Merlin felt his cock start to swell. All suspicion fled. He needed to see the face that voice belonged to. He needed to see the face of the man _he_ belonged to. 

Opening his eyelids was harder than expected, but he was more than rewarded for his effort. The most brilliant blue eyes were gazing straight into his. A crooked smile, a golden halo upon his head—Merlin's skin tingled just from the sight. His pulse quickened, and he had to battle the strange and sudden impulse to rip his heart straight out of his chest cavity and present it to this glorious man. 

No. That was… not right. He closed his eyes abruptly, hoping to block out the moment of insanity. He needed to be careful… think of Freya… think of Mum…

"I knew you were stronger than you looked. Gaius is a fool. It'll take more than a little sip to break you."

That voice… so smooth. So delightful. Merlin could listen to it speak forever and ever. 

"Open your eyes, little bird. It's time to eat."

His eyes popped open, and he pushed himself up to sitting. He was in his bed, and the gorgeous man—Arthur, wasn't it?—sat in a chair at his side. Merlin had the urge to throw himself into Arthur's lap, but the other man held out a golden goblet for him to take. 

He was parched and took the offering eagerly. It was more of the berry cordial, sweet and strong. Merlin could feel the liquid move through his body, a burning sensation spreading from throat to gut and then out through his veins. Invigorating. He felt more alive than he had in ages. 

"What is that?" 

"That, my dear, is the best of my sister's wine. Over the years she has had rather a lot of spare time on her hands and has taken to experimenting. She wanted something to keep her pets… happy. Turns out this particular concoction is preferable for humans. I do have such a sweet tooth."

Merlin took another sip, and then realised that Arthur didn't have any of his own. He held out the goblet, happy to share. 

"Oh, no thank you, my sweet. I prefer my drinks… warmer." 

That was all right; more for Merlin then. He finished it off, and Arthur took it away. 

It was warm, uncomfortably warm. Merlin threw off the bed covers. Cooler air brushed against his bare skin—and that was when he noticed he was naked. Perhaps he should mind, but the heat inside was really starting to bother him; the idea of clothing was abhorrent. 

A fresh breeze laden with the scent of the forest beckoned like a siren call, and Merlin couldn't help rising from the bed and following the sharp smell of pine towards the open window. For just a moment his head felt clearer, less muddied by heat and alcohol. A single candle on the table in front of him lit the room; a few small insects and a grey moth wandered in and fluttered around the flickering light. As Merlin watched, the moth ventured too close to the open flame and was singed. He watched it struggle to fly ever closer even as it burnt. Soon it fell into the pool of molten wax, wings twitching a moment before falling still. 

A cold hand pressed against Merlin's shoulder from behind, startling him. Despite the fever growing within his body, he shivered. A second hand joined the first, resting on the other shoulder. The hands caressed Merlin's skin, leaching some of the heat away. He stared at the dead moth, but all his attention was directed towards the feeling of smooth fingers tracing lines along his collarbones. 

The touch was electric, causing the hair on his arms to stand on end. His cock jumped to life, swelling quickly. He tried to hold as still as possible, but couldn't stop the shudder that ran through him. The fingers retraced the line of his collarbones and then moved down his chest, feather-light. They circled around his nipples, causing them to harden instantly. The spiralling movement grew ever smaller until it was just fingertips brushing over the sensitive buds. 

No one had ever touched Merlin like this before. He hadn't even known that it was something he might like… but damn, did he ever like it. 

He felt puffs of cold air against his neck, almost like someone was exhaling under his ear… but no living person would have such icy breath. It struck him as odd, and he jerked away—

One hand pushed firmly against his chest and pulled him backwards until he was pressed against a fully clothed body. The fabric grated against his hot, over-sensitive skin. He might have complained, but the hand not holding him in place started tracing along each of his ribs one by one, and it was impossible to consider anything else. 

The hand then moved to his stomach, rubbing small circles into the soft flesh. Merlin's cock, already hard, became even more aroused, straining upwards towards the nearby hand. It burned from the inside; it felt as if the delicate skin would burst apart as the pressure grew. If only he could get just a little friction against it… just the slightest bit would help, he was certain…

Merlin's hands had been hanging motionless at his sides. Now they moved almost without his assent, one wrapping around his length, the other massaging at his sack before applying pressure to the base of his cock. Fuck, that felt so—

Cold hands clamped onto his wrists and wrenched both arms behind his back. It hurt, and he yelled with the pain and shock of it. 

"And you'd been so sweet for me," that musical, compelling voice murmured in his ear. "So good, so perfect. But now… did I say you could move, little bird? Did I give you permission to touch yourself?"

No, no, of course not. What had Merlin been thinking? Why would he ever want to make that voice unhappy with him? Merlin was sweet, he was, he was! He'd do whatever it took to keep the voice happy. A voice that gorgeous could only belong to someone fully worthy of all Merlin's love and adoration and obedience. 

"No… No, Master," he said, as submissively as possible. He tried to make his voice just as expressive, tried to make it say just how sorry Merlin was, and how devoted, please please forgive him…

"I wish for you to call me Arthur, though I appreciate your attitude. For that, I shall take extra good care of you. But you must only do as I say, yes? You can do that for me?"

"Yes… Arthur." It felt wrong to call such a person by his name, though he would do whatever needed to keep the Mast— Arthur happy. Because Arthur was kind and caring and thoughtful, such a noble and worthy man, and Merlin would give his life for him in a heartbeat…

"You remind me of someone I used to know. Ages ago, now. I wonder if— Well, it doesn't matter. He wouldn't have approved, of course, and he would have had no qualms about telling me so. I suspect if you were free to speak your mind, you might have a similar disrespectful attitude."

No, no, never! Merlin would never cause the Ma— Arthur any trouble. 

Speech seemed abnormally hard, but he managed to throw off the languor that stilled his tongue to say, "I wouldn't!"

Arthur laughed. "Yet even now you speak without permission, sweet bird. How you manage to throw off the compulsion… It's unheard of. Such strength…"

Merlin felt chagrined but relieved that at least Arthur was laughing at his disobedience, not raging. And he'd have every right to be furious. He was such a good man, and here Merlin was being so impertinent. Gods, he needed to stop before Arthur realised that Merlin was not deserving of his attention. Before he made Arthur sad. 

Perhaps Arthur guessed at his internal frustration because he said, "It's fine, my sweet. You'll learn. But now I grow hungry and have no more time for games."

At last he let go of Merlin's wrists. Merlin sighed as the pain—well-deserved—abated. He let his arms hang at his sides, but didn't dare move more than that. Arthur would not be pleased if he did. 

"That's the way. I knew you would be a quick study. I'm going to take you now. Prepare yourself."

A vial of oil appeared on the table next to the golden candle; it hadn't been there a moment ago. Merlin knew that he was supposed to use it somehow, but… he'd never… He'd heard rumours of course, but—

"I…" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "I don't… I've never."

"Not even to please yourself?" Arthur's voice sounded surprised but not unhappy. "Then I will do it for you this time. Pay attention. Next time I won't be so understanding."

Gods, could Merlin do nothing right? He must be _such_ a disappointment. 

Arthur muttered something under his breath. It sounded a lot like, "You were useless then too," but that didn't make any sense. Merlin must not have heard correctly. 

Arthur still stood directly behind him; now he pushed Merlin's torso forward so that it was lying on the wooden table. The candle flickered close by, and he focused on its cheery light. From this angle, the dead moth was not visible, though he couldn't let himself forget that it was still there. It seemed important somehow. 

Arthur released him, and Merlin held still. The glass vial clinked as the stopper was removed and the contents poured out. 

A cold hand landed on his lower back and pressed him down more firmly. Merlin's erect cock, which at this point was screaming for friction, was left bobbing untouched. If only he could get it to press against the underside of the table…

Another cold hand—this one wet and drippy—pushed in between the mounds of his arse. It rubbed back and forth in Merlin's cleft a few times before zeroing in on his opening. 

The sensation was nothing he had ever experienced before. He'd heard the boys talk, and knew vaguely what they got up to; he'd just never been that interested himself. His life was spent working and taking care of his mum, and he'd never wanted anyone. 

Until now. 

And fuck, did he want. 

A cold finger pushed inside. It was not gentle, and it ought to have been a strange sensation, uncomfortable, perhaps even painful. But all Merlin could think was, yes, yes, more, damn it, more!

He dared not utter his request, though, for fear that Arthur would stop all together. He remained silent and still; anything to please his Master. 

The finger pressed in and out, and then there were more… but at the same time cold breath landed on his neck, a stark contrast to the heat burning inside his body. Merlin shivered uncontrollably, desperate for… he didn't even know what, exactly. For _something_. 

More puffs of cold air tickled and soothed, under his ear, at the base of his neck, around to the other side. "You smell… so good…" Arthur whispered, voice broken, lacking its normal fierce control. "So… sweet. Decadent. So full of life."

Then Arthur began to lick the soft skin of Merlin's neck, starting under the joint of his jaw and proceeding to the sensitive area above his pulse point. He sucked in time with Merlin's heartbeat, and Merlin had the strange impression that if it weren't for the skin in the way, Arthur would be happy to suck straight from his vein. 

There were maybe three fingers inside him now, stretching the tight passage, pushing in and out. It felt both foreign and natural. The fingers occasionally brushed against a place that caused intense tingles of pleasure to run through his groin, centering in his cock but spreading out from there. But they never lasted; just an instant and they were gone. More, more, he needed more, this wasn't enough…

He began to push back against Arthur's fingers, desperate to get them to go deeper, wanting them to hit that spot every time.

"Please… More…" he begged. It was a mistake. Arthur pulled away completely. Merlin groaned. There was a smacking sound, and then the skin of Merlin's arse burned with pain. 

"Owww," he groaned. 

"Stay silent and still, or I will have to punish you truly. Now if you're so eager… you must be ready."

As Arthur spoke, Merlin held his breath in an attempt to be as motionless as possible. Not that he was afraid of punishment, exactly; the pain from the blow had morphed into a strange sort of pleasure that he didn't want to examine too closely. But he really, really didn't want Arthur to stop what he was doing. 

"Blood is always more potent when steeped in desperation. But there will be lots of time to build up to that in the future."

There was a quiet rustle of fabric and leather, and then something impossibly big was pushed forcefully into Merlin's hole. Pain flared but was immediately consumed by pleasure. Arthur's cock was so thick that Merlin knew it would split him in two, and yet he welcomed it. 

Arthur began thrusting in and out. There was nothing gentle about it. At times it was intolerable—there was no possible way that Merlin could emerge from this in one piece. But then Arthur's cock would hit that place deep inside, the one that made him go crazy with pleasure. Gods!

Merlin was lightheaded with need, nearly ill with the sheer intensity of it. He barely noticed Arthur licking at his neck again. 

This was how he was going to die: killed by desire when all it would take was the briefest of touches. He could endure no longer. 

Then a series of things happened: Arthur groaned and stilled his thrusting; Merlin's passage filled with something cold; pain exploded on his neck where Arthur had been licking; and Merlin climaxed untouched, pleasure that was pure pain, pain that was disconcerting relief. 

The discomfort in his cock faded even as the pain in his neck flared to such horrifying levels that the only escape was oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for a place to chat with other Merlin fans, [here's a fun place to try.](https://merlin-chat.livejournal.com/488.html)


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